No Matter How the Wind Howls
by engineerwenlock
Summary: Loosely based on Disney's Mulan. To protect her brother, Shallan Davar joins the army in his place. She must learn to use her newfound powers to conceal her identity while admitting some painful truths about herself. Kaladin killed a Shardbearer, yet he gave up the Shards. Now in Sadeas' army, he finds none of the honor he expected on the Shattered Plains.
1. We've Got a Long Way to Go

_Shallan_

After her brother Wikim finally fell asleep, Shallan Davar crept into his room, stole the army summons scroll, and left a hair comb in its place. She hoped that her brothers would have the sense not to follow her. The roads would be full of witnesses - army draftees and government officials, and the penalty for what she was about to do was, well actually she wasn't sure. As far as she knew, there was no legal precedent for a woman trying to join the army. Maybe she'd be excommunicated. Maybe they'd kill her. Best not to find out.

If the draft notice had come a few years ago, it would not have come to this. Not long ago, the Davar house had been overflowing with eligible men - four sons and their able-bodied father. But now her father was dead and Helaran was missing. Balat's leg disqualified him from army service. Jushu had gone west on a trading expedition to try and turn around the finances of their estate, since they'd had to give back her father's soulcaster, and the last of the quarries were running out. That left WIkim. War could be the making of some men, but Shallan knew there was a good chance it would destroy her sensitive brother.

She lopped off her hair and stole the provisions that had been set out in preparation for Wikim's departure.

She made it an hour before she had to admit to herself that she could not wear her father's old armor for the entire trip. Eventually she would have to learn to ride a horse while wearing it, but for now, she was already beginning to develop blisters, and it was a three day's ride to the nearest army camp. She removed the armor by spherelight and adjusted the bindings on her chest, hoping they would conceal her identity well enough for the trip.

"I find it fascinating -" said a disembodied voice behind her. She started, then remembered it was only Pattern. He had started talking to her a few months ago, gradually growing in intelligence and awareness of the world around him. Pattern continued, "-that you are choosing to alter your appearance in order to join the army. Are all new recruits required to bind their chests and cut the fur on their heads?"

"No. Joining the army requires one to be a man. And it's hair, not fur."

"But you are female."

"Well I don't want anyone else to know that."

"Mmmm... lies." hummed Pattern, "You know, there are a number of anatomical differences you have yet to address, most markedly the-"

"I know, I know."

"So what do you intend to do about-"

"Ahh I don't know. This is crazy. I can't - I mean I don't -"

"I believe if we work together, your lie will be much more successful. All I need is a truth, and we can begin."

* * *

Shallan closed her eyes and pulled Stormlight from one of her spheres to create the illusion: visualizing the image she wanted to create, which still made her blush, even after three days of practice. She hadn't altered anything that was visible outside her clothes. She had considered changing her face and hands - a more defined jawline, less delicate fingers, a bit of stubble. Ultimately though, she realized the danger of constantly spending Stormlight to maintain such an illusion. Better to appear a little feminine all the time than to have a face she couldn't maintain during the Weeping. That would give her away for sure. She would save this strange ability for the occasions when someone else would see her without clothes on: shared barracks, communal bath houses, latrines. Even exercising without a shirt on, which men seemed so fond of doing, would have been impossible. Now, she just had to hope that the doctor didn't do a very thorough exam, since her illusions were intangible.

She snuck a quick peek under her clothing and confirmed that everything looked correct. This was the first time she had done the illusion correctly without sketching it again first. She was incredibly grateful for her artistic studies, otherwise, she would not have known what male anatomy looked like in the first place.

As she strapped on her armor, Shallan glanced at her hands: covered in dirt and blisters, but paler and better manicured than any soldier's should be. Her safehand was several shades lighter than her freehand, and she had made Pattern promise to buzz every time she tried to hide it in her sleeve. Hopefully she could break the habit soon. She used Stormlight to make her hands appear tan and calloused- not forever, she told herself; just until they looked this way naturally. But for now, she could imagine the illusion was a glove, and that soothed her nerves a bit, which was good because she was only about a mile from the encampment and she needed her wits about her.

* * *

Shallan stood at attention on the parade ground with nineteen lighteyed cadets in the officers training program, drafted into the army just like her. Well, not exactly like her. They were all men.

She'd been nervous to check in yesterday, but the bored clerk just asked for the scroll and her name, and wrote down Jushu Davar in the ledger. She sent sent Shallan to the medical examiner without a second glance. This was the part she was most dreading. Fortunately, over a hundred darkeyed soldiers had also arrived that day, so the overworked healer did the bare minimum. He checked her vision, reflexes, and hearing and asked a few cursory questions about her family medical history. Shallan breathed a sigh of relief and went about the rest of check-in: bunk assignments, instructions on stabling her horse, getting issued a uniform. She was dismayed to be told that they would muster at dawn the next morning. And that was where she found herself now.

"Stand up straight, cremlings!" shouted the red-faced, potbellied, peg-legged training officer, Captain Thakal.

Shallan had excellent posture, even half awake and garbed in the itchiest clothing she had ever worn. But she noticed that the men in the row in front of her stood with their legs further apart than she was used to. She adjusted her stance to mimic them and squared her shoulders. It was details like this that could reveal her secret if she wasn't careful.

"You are the worst looking batch of idiots I've ever seen. Your families were probably grateful for the chance to get rid of you," the captain continued. "I'll be glad to be rid of you myself, come two months time, when I get to send the ten worst of you to become Alethkar's problem."

Shallan heard surprised muttering from two men in the back row. But really, she didn't understand why they were surprised. Even in her out-of-the-way province, she'd heard about the new treaty with Alethkar that required her country to send some of their army to support the Alethi at the Shattered Plains every year. It was the reason the king had implemented a draft in the first place. In return, Alethkar had offered lucrative trade deals and agreed to a ceasefire in the contested border between the two countries, with the border redrawn in Vedenar's favor. The treaty was a great boon to all of Vedenar, with the exception of the men being sent to fight. But there had been no mass outrage about sending the soldiers. It was rumored that many of the darkeyed recruits had committed minor crimes and were given the choice between prison and the army. The draft was supposed to be random, but Shallan doubted it was a coincidence that her family, who had fallen in prestige and favor, had been sent a draft notice. Many of the other lighteyed conscripts were sixth dahn or lower. All in all, a shrewd way to fill the quota with few objections from the general populace.

Captain Thakal must have heard the muttering too, because told the two whisperers, "Looks like you two morons have your heads so far up your asses you can't see anything beyond your own intestines. Rule number one of warfare: you can be a damn prodigy with the sword, but it doesn't matter if you don't know who to point it at. Until you learn to pay attention, you'll be carrying double packs up that hill for our morning runs. Everyone, line up, single file and let's get geared up!"

The hill was a nightmare, and Shallan only made it halfway up it before she collapsed. She had lagged behind significantly, so only Captain Thakal, bringing up the rear, saw her fall.

"Kelek's raging halitosis! This is the army, not a vacation. Get up, soldier," he shouted.

Shallan groaned, but surreptitiously drew in enough Stormlight to heal her aching legs and give her the energy to finish the run.

She ended up using Stormlight frequently during those first few weeks to improve her endurance, strength, and recovery time. She was still the scrawniest person in her training group, but at least she could keep up on the frequent runs and lift the heavy weights Captain Thakal used for strength training.

She had worried about what to do when her monthly cycle came around, but it hadn't come once in the two months she spent in the training camp. She recalled a passing line in one of her books that said women who were forced to do difficult manual labor could experience trouble conceiving children, but didn't go into much detail. Now, based on her own experience, she surmised that the cessation of her cycle was connected to that. She was glad for it in the short run, and tried not to think about the long-term ramifications if it wasn't temporary.

So far, her deception had been a success. Sure, they thought her pampered and soft, but she wasn't the only one. She was physically incapable of a deep booming voice, but she was getting better at lowering the pitch. The rumor was that a few of the men in camp were impoverished tenners paid to impersonate the draftees. Shallan hoped that everyone thought her family had just paid a particularly young boy to impersonate Jushu. The army didn't really care as long as they got the numbers to send on to the Shattered Plains.

But most of her cohort had grown up playing with swords - running around outside while Shallan had learned to read and write and draw. She proved to be a quick learner, sneaking away to draw the proper stances so she could imitate them herself. She'd had to purchase a new sketchbook, having left hers at home. She kept it hidden, but as an extra precaution, she made sure to stick to rough sketches. If a man knew how to draw, that was unusual. If he could draw as well as Shallan at her best, well that was suspicious. And so Shallan let go of another piece of herself and let the role she had to play consume her.

Meanwhile, her small stature and relative lack of physical skills made her a target for other trainees who were trying to prove themselves. She came through the hazing mostly unscathed, but didn't make any friends in camp.

By the time training ended, Shallan had improved by leaps and bounds, but two months was not enough to catch up entirely. She was chosen to travel to the Shattered Plains and granted the rank of Ensign, a post reserved for young officers in training. She had originally hoped for a cavalry posting, but was deemed too uncoordinated, so she sent the horse back to the estate.

Shallan had always wanted to see the world, but she'd never imagined she'd do it as a soldier. An army march through the Frostlands wasn't exactly the natural history expedition she'd been hoping for. Still, Balat had eventually agreed, in the letters she'd had to pay a scribe to read to her (storms it felt so _odd_ not to read or write), that it was better her than Wikim.


	2. I Let Them Slip Through My Fingers

_Kaladin_

_One year ago_

(bold portion is an excerpt from Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson. I do not intend to do this again, but I felt it necessary to show the exact moment of canon divergence.)

**Everything felt _wrong._**

**If he took that Blade, he'd become one of them. HIs eyes would even change, if the stories were right. Though the Blade glistened in the light, clean of the murders it had performed, for a moment it seemed red to him. Stained with Dallet's blood. Toorim's blood. The blood of the men who had been alive just moments before.**

**It was a treasure. Men traded kingdoms for Shardblades. The handful of darkeyed men who had won them lived forever in song and story. But the thought of touching that Blade sickened him. It represented everything he'd come to hate about the lighteyes, and it had just slaughtered men he loved dearly. He could not become a legend because of something like that. He looked at his reflection in the Blade's pitiless metal, then lowered his hand and turned away.**

**"It's yours, Coreb," Kaladin said. "I give it to you."**

**"_What?" _Coreb said from behind.**

**Ahead, Amaram's honor guard had finally returned, apprehensively appearing at the top of the small hollow, looking ashamed.**

Coreb spoke up, "I believe my squad leader meant to say that he wishes to present this fine set of Plate and Blade to his superior, Highmarshal Amaram. Everything we have done today has been in your service, and it would be the highest honor to present you with the spoils of victory."

Amaram eyed them suspiciously but said, "Your honor and bravery does you credit, soldier. Squadleader - um -"

"Kaladin, sir," Kaladin answered out of habit.

"Squadleader Kaladin, your men have fought well today. The dead will surely join the fight to reclaim the Tranquiline Halls. As for the Plate and Blade, I couldn't possibly accept them."

Coreb, who had come to stand next to Kaladin, whispered, "Insist that he take it."

Kaladin didn't understand the fear in Coreb's eyes, but considering he had been about to entrust a full set of _Shards_ to Coreb, it wasn't a difficult decision to trust him in this. Kaladin told Amaram, "No, no Brightlord, I insist. I just got a lucky hit. I wouldn't know what to do with a sword anyway. I'm only trained in the spear, after all."

Amaram appeared stunned. Nobody said anything for the moment, and then Amaram broke the silence, "I believe a promotion is in order for you, young man. We'll discuss the details later, but for now, you and your men get cleaned up. In fact, have a hot bath in my chambers and instruct my chef to bring you anything you desire to eat." Amaram signaled for one of his honor guard to escort the men, Kaladin and the remaining four members of his squad made their way back to camp.

Kaladin and Coreb hung back a bit from the honor guard and the other three, and Kaladin whispered, "What am I missing?"

Coreb explained, "That look in Amaram's eyes. I've seen it before, when he wants - no, no, feels entitled to - something that isn't his. It's not true desperation, just the 'need' of someone who isn't often told 'no.' And it's a dangerous thing. Once when he visited Brightlord Ashar," Coreb had once been the apprentice steward of a citylord several days' travel south of Hearthstone, "Amaram demanded to examine some family heirloom of Ashar's. Ashar refused. Later, a couple of housemaids caught him snooping around Ashar's private effects, but somehow Amaram managed to turn the blame on them. He accused them of stealing, and, though I'm fairly certain Ashar could guess the truth, you don't contradict a man in Amaram's position. The women were beaten severely and dismissed without references. I-I can't imagine what he would do for Shards."

So much for Amaram's honor. If what Coreb said was true, deep down Amaram was just like any other lighteyes. Worse, even, since he appeared trustworthy. But if you can't count on someone all the time, you can't count on them at all.

Amaram's reward for Hab, Reesh, Alabet and Coreb was a substantial sum of money and their choice of duty assignments. Kaladin got the same, along with the recommendation that he be promoted to Lieutenant, the highest rank a dark eyes could reasonably hope to attain. Anything was a pittance in comparison to Shardblade, but Coreb had instructed the men to bow and scrape and act grateful for the boons they received.

Hab had a wife and child, Alabet's father's health was beginning to fail, and Reesh wanted to be a merchant when he left the army. The reward was enough let them chase their dreams and take good care of their families, provided they survived their remaining time in the army. And their survival seemed fairly likely. Kaladin's choice of posting was still the Shattered Plains, but each of the remaining members of his squad selected relatively safe and boring positions, miles away from the borderlands.

The reinforcements to the Shattered Plains traveled to Kholinar and joined armies from all across the kingdom in a long caravan of soldiers, provisions, and, to Kaladin's dismay, luxury goods. Having been promoted to second lieutenant, Kaladin was the highest ranking darkeyes in the Sadeas contingent. He was placed in charge of all seventy-eight spearmen for the duration of the journey, reporting to the light-eyed Captain Jeral Mavarien.

His duties consisted mostly of keeping the peace. He had to know which men couldn't serve guard duty together and break up the occasional fistfight. Kaladin wished he could do more to enforce basic rules, like a curfew or even uniform requirements. When a camp had structure and discipline, it ultimately made the leaders' jobs easier. But Kaladin didn't have much power, and Captain Mavarien didn't see Kaladin's ideas as necessary. The infighting and disorder was, in a way, a microcosm of the entire caravan.

Ostensibly they were to travel as one unit, but most of the soldiers had just spent years fighting border skirmishes against the armies of the other highprinces. Kaladin felt for the caravan commander; deciding on travel order and campsite allocation was a logistical nightmare. Sadeas' soldiers couldn't be trusted near men from either princedom that directly bordered Sadeas' land holdings: Aladar and Vamah. Thanadal and Hatham had just ended a particularly bloody and underhanded dispute, and it seemed like no princedom was above its own petty rivalries.

Men were injured frequently. Kaladin lost four spearmen on the journey: one to desertion, one to a venomous lizard bite, one to a highstorm, and one who, in direct defiance of Kaladin's orders, drunkenly wandered into Aladar's camp, insulted someone bigger than him, got beaten to a pulp, and died of his injuries.

When the caravan arrived at the Shattered Plains and Kaladin saw that the ten warcamps were kept separate from one another, he burned a prayer of thanks to the Almighty.


	3. You Gotta Learn to Let These Things Go

_Kaladin_

"Charge! We've got them now!" bellowed Battalionlord Ralashin from his horse.

"Squad One and Two, follow me!" shouted Lieutenant Tam. They charged into the weakening group of Parshendi, pressing their advantage. A few squads from other platoons were doing the same.

Kaladin, as second-in-command of Platoon Fifteen, now had field command of the remaining three squads. Tam's group advanced, doing well until suddenly a new surge of Parshendi slammed into their flank. Kaladin saw a few men go down, Tam included, his green officer's uniform easily recognizable amid the brown garb of the enlisted soldiers.

Kaladin could hear Sargeant Orr from Squad Two barking out orders in his strange nasal, high pitched voice. The men did their best to get into formation, but the Parshendi seemed intent on scattering them and picking them off a few at a time.

"Three and Four, wedge formation!" Kaladin bellowed over the din of the battle.

They lined up immediately. In the largely undisciplined Sadeas army, Kaladin was fortunate to serve under Tam, who held his men to a higher standard. Well, not fortunate, so much as ended up here after personality clashes with his first three platoon leaders. Regardless, right now, Tam and Kaladin's combined insistence on discipline was paying off.

Captain Mavarien, now commander of Kaladin's company, shouted from a distance, "Hold the line. Don't advance."

Pretending he didn't hear, Kaladin told the leader of the adjacent platoon to spread his forces out to support Kaladin's remaining squad on their section of the line, then led his two squads into the fray. Syl, the windspren only he could see, who talked to him sometimes - did that make him crazy?- flitted around his spear as they pushed through the Parshendi to the stranded men. They created a corridor and begun ferrying the wounded back behind the lines.

A man from Sergeant Orr's squad found Lieutenant Tam, unconscious and spurting blood from a wound in his left leg. Kaladin wrapped a bandage above the injury, then tightened it until he cut off all blood flow. If Tam survived, he would lose his leg, but that was better than certain death from a damaged artery on the battlefield.

When it was clear their corridor was holding, Kaladin led a subsquad to rescue smaller pockets of men. Most were darkeyed spearmen but a few lighteyes had lost their horses and been separated from their units. Kaladin was at a loss as to why they had traveled so far down the battlefield.

Once the rescue operation had been completed, they all retreated back to the main line. Kaladin's men continued to fight the Parshendi while he and a few others with medical experience worked on the men who had not yet been run to the medics.

While Kaladin was bandaging a dangerous gut wound, a tall shadow blocked the sunlight. Kaladin finished what he was doing, then looked up. It was Captain Mavarien on his horse.

Kaladin stood up. "Orders sir?" he asked.

"Lieutenant, whose time is more valuable? Mine or yours?" came the snide reply from Mavarien.

Kaladin knew better than to make a smart remark about the wounded man's life being worth more than Mavarien's time. Antagonizing his commanding officer was a dangerous thing to do in the middle of a battle, when Kaladin had so many men to protect. "Yours, sir," Kaladin said.

"Then next time, don't make me wait. Your orders are to hold the line. That last assault left us spread thin. The cavalry has almost reached the chrysalis. No need for more heroics."

"Understood."

"And we will discuss your insubordination when we return to camp."

"Insubordination? What do you mean, sir?" Kaladin asked. Playing dumb was the only thing Kaladin had learned from the second platoon leader he'd served under, but it was a useful trick every now and again.

"You disobeyed direct orders to hold the line."

"Oh?" asked Kaladin, "You said to hold the line? I could have sworn you said, 'Go get them.' My mistake."

Mavarien huffed in annoyance and ordered, "Be prepared to retreat on my signal."

"Yes, sir."

"And Stormblessed," said Mavarien, not bothering to hide his contempt, "If we need to go quickly, leave the worst of the wounded. We can't afford to stay a minute more than necessary."

Kaladin replied, "Noted, sir." Yes, Kaladin noted that Mavarian cared less for the men under his command than he did for the bonus all the commanders received if they 'won' the battle.

A win as defined by Sadeas was a successful gemheart extraction, regardless of how many men died to achieve it. Meanwhile, some of the common soldiers, whose victory bonus was relatively small, placed bets among their friends over who would kill the most Parshendi. Kaladin defined victory differently. He counted his men who survived.

Usually, the runners took care of all the wounded in Kaladin's charge. He had continued his old practice of bribing them and the medics to give his men priority. Though Kaladin's pay as a Lieutenant stretched further than a squadleader's, he now had roughly a hundred men to care for. Tam approved of what Kaladin did, but only contributed on occasion.

With battles fought so far afield, Kaladin couldn't afford to trust the medics all the time. About six months ago, during a particularly hasty retreat, they'd had to carry their wounded back themselves. One man, Ellit had been his name, bled to death in the process. Had he been carried on a stretcher, Kaladin thought, the bandages might have held and Ellit would have had a chance at survival.

So Kaladin figured out a way to make stretchers on the battlefield. Two men per squad carried a bag full of rope and special fabric covers Kaladin had paid a tailor to make. They'd drilled and drilled and now it was time to put them to the test. The men worked quickly, gathering fallen spears from the battlefield and binding them together, three or four per bundle, and wrapping the sharp tips in cloth. They were not easy to carry, but they were better than the alternative.

Kaladin also assigned a man to watch the fighting around the chrysalis. The delay between the extraction of the gemheart and the call for retreat allowed them to get the men loaded onto the stretchers in time to leave. They loaded up the ten worst wounded in the vicinity on the stretchers. Others were able to walk or be carried, thanks to Kaladin's triage team. But down the field, Kaladin could see men crawling after the retreating army. Their screams, cut short by the Parshendi, would be sure to feature prominently in Kaladin's dreams.

So many wounded. And at least seven dead. Yon. One-Eyed Lanacin. Tipper, who had finally started cleaning his spear properly. With so many wounded, carrying back their bodies was unthinkable. And many of the wounded taken by the runners looked pretty bad. Kaladin was sure he'd return to camp to the news that some of them had died too.

This battle was the worst of Kaladin's career. Battalionlord Ralashin was only in command because of his near supernatural ability to kiss Sadeas' ass. But on the battlefield, his incompetence was clear. Today he got carried away in the momentum of their advance and ordered a charge with no tactical significance, then got his men caught in a trap. Meanwhile Mavarien exhibited once again that the soldiers under his command were nothing more than a means to an end. Both men's actions had consequences they were sure to ignore, and Kaladin hated them for it.

* * *

Kaladin paced outside the medical buildings back at Sadeas' warcamp. Most of his men were resting back at camp or in the recovery wards, which were currently deemed too full to accept visitors. Two of his men were still in surgery.

Life in the army was brief periods of action followed by a lot of waiting around. As long as Kaladin ignored larger objectives of the battles, and just focused on keeping his men safe, he felt alive while he was fighting. The waiting around, though, with its chances to dissect every move he made, recall every man he failed to save, that was torture. When he couldn't cope with that anymore, his brain switched to deep-seeded apathy and it became a fight to so much as get out of bed in the morning. He could feel himself sinking ever closer to that pit of despair. Syl did her best to cheer him up, but she was no Tien. And they had lost so many men today. So he grasped at any emotion he could hold onto. The easiest was hate.

Lieutenant... something that started with a V, Kaldin couldn't remember but he lead Platoon Twelve, strolled by with a well-dressed woman on his arm. He was out of uniform, wearing a ridiculous yellow jacket. Kaladin couldn't understand how the other officer could act like he hadn't spent the morning running to a battle and midday watching his men die. Lighteyes!

One of the things Kaladin hated the most about the army was that the darkeyed spear corps were a mix of lighteyed and darkeyed platoon leaders. Leading a platoon was the pinnacle of achievement for a darkeyed soldier, an honor reserved for the best of the best, an incentive for the spearmen to distinguish themselves. Kaladin was the youngest darkeyed officer in Sadeas' army by a good ten years. Lieutenant Tam had served for fifteen years before his promotion. Meanwhile, high ranking lighteyes as young as seventeen were given a chance to 'practice' command by leading a platoon. Like anyone inexperienced, they made mistakes at every turn. But they tended to shrug them off, after all, the men they got killed were 'only darkeyes.'

What's-his-name made a snide comment about the state of Kaladin's uniform and the woman laughed. Kaladin glared at him in response and resumed his pacing. Kaladin had not yet changed out of his battle uniform, which was still covered in dried blood. It had once been a patchwork of red from the men he'd tried to save and orange from the Parshendi he'd tried to kill. Now it was all brown. He'd wash and change soon. But not yet. He couldn't relax until he heard if Nar survived and if they could save Derid's hand. The boy was a potter's apprentice before he got drafted and now he was in danger of losing several fingers. And his hair stuck up in the back like Tien's used to, and -

"Lieutenant Kaladin, please report to Captain Mavarien's office."

He thanked the messenger and followed his instructions.

The command building was built as sturdy as the soulcast bunkers, but with a little more architectural flair. Flags hung on the outer walls, each with a different glyphpair, one for each officer of captain's rank or higher in the camp. At the top was the tower and hammer of Highprince Sadeas.

Kaladin made his way to Mavarien's office and discovered four other people waiting to talk to the Captain as well. He supposed this was a way for Mavarien to underscore his point that his time was more valuable than Kaladin's. Kaladin didn't regret a thing.

"Early reports indicate," Mavarien intoned, when it was finally Kaladin's turn, "that your platoon has experienced catastrophic losses. Not to mention, Lieutenant Tam's amputation has left him unfit for combat."

"Yes, sir," said Kaladin, his voice dripping with contempt. Rage at Mavarien was better than emptiness.

"As such, your platoon will be disbanded and split up among the other platoons in my command. We're still working on new duty assignments, but I'll have a scribe get that to you in a day or two."

"But-"

"I don't have time for your arguments. I have an appointment with my tailor after this."

Syl stuck out her tongue at Mavarien, which cheered Kaladin up a bit.

Mavarien continued, "Between the wounded and the dead, your platoon took almost thirty percent losses, which we both know will be terrible for morale. Believe it or not, disbanding your men is a kindness. As for you, one of the lighteyed infantry you rescued was Battalionlord Ralashin's youngest son. As a token of his gratitude, you will be granted command of Platoon Fifteen and a promotion to First Lieutenant."

"Wait," said Kaladin, "Didn't you just say my platoon was to be disbanded?"

"Yes, you idiot." Well, Mavarien didn't say 'you idiot,' but it was implied. "Platoon Fifteen is to be converted into a training unit, and you will be given command of the new recruits set to arrive next week."

"Yes, sir."

"You will not enter another battle until I deem your troops ready. Besides, it is clear that you're experiencing some hearing loss, so hopefully some time off the field will be a chance for your ears to recover."

"Yes, sir." So this was to be his punishment for his earlier insubordination. Or, if not a punishment, a way for Mavarien to keep Kaladin out of his hair for awhile. Kaladin had inadvertently landed himself on the Battalionlord's good side, so this appeared to be the worst Mavarien could do.

"Dismissed."

Kaladin saluted and returned to the medical buildings.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm also on AO3 as engineerwenlock. I usually post there first, to be honest, though I haven't transferred some of my older stories over there.


	4. Let's Get Down To Business

_Shallan_

Shallan loathed Lieutenant Kaladin. Not the sort of loathing one would feel for a truly despicable person, nor the complicated mix of fear and love and hate she had felt toward her father. Merely exhausted anger directed at the man who made her run until she threw up and _then _started weapons training. On her first day at the warcamps. She knew it was necessary. She knew she would die without better training. And she knew _he_ knew it. But for now, she latched onto the anger because it was the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

She reached for the spheres in her pocket, but Pattern buzzed a warning, just like she had instructed him to. "Your prediction of your own weakness is shockingly accurate," he remarked, "Now I'm to remind you that you need to save some Stormlight for your illusions, just in case. There's supposed to be a highstorm tonight. Just a few more hours," Pattern told her soothingly.

They'd arrived at the warcamps late last night and camped just outside. Getting the soldiers split up into their assigned units, not to mention unpacking and getting them settled, took time, so the caravan commander opted to wait until morning.

The bugle sounded at sunrise and the army efficiently packed up camp. For all that they were the worst soldiers Vedenar had to offer, at least they had learned some discipline on their long march. Shallan herself was finally becoming accustomed to the early mornings. Well, mostly. She hadn't lost her temper before breakfast in nearly a week.

Shallan had served as an aide to the caravan commander during the march to the Shattered Plains and had quickly become a favorite because of her aptitude with the maps. He would be returning to Vedenar with the next merchant caravan to leave the camps, so Shallan made sure to take a moment to wish him well before the morning got too hectic. He was an old man, so involved in army life that he had never married, so he tended to treat his aides like the grandsons he'd never had. And sure enough, he ruffled her short hair fondly and told her, "Jushu, you're a good lad. Stay out of trouble."

"Yes sir, I'll try," she grinned, "Though I make no promises. As you know, trouble has a way of finding _me_."

After packing up camp, the soldiers were split up. Each of the Alethi Highprinces had their own army, so a tenth of the Veden reinforcements went to each one. Shallan was assigned to Sadeas. Every Veden child, no matter how sheltered, had heard tales of the unification of Alethkar and burned prayers to the Almighty that Sadeas and the Blackthorn would never turn their attention to Jah Kheved. The servants' children had insisted that Sadeas ate axehound puppies for breakfast and babies for dessert. As an adult, she knew logically that such tales were nonsense, but that didn't stop the racing of her heart as she marched with the others toward the Sadeas warcamp. It didn't help that the Alethi were so tall and intimidating.

Thankfully, they were met by a pompous, portly man in a bright purple coat and green takama. Shallan would have felt underdressed in her drab traveling clothes, had the colors been less... intense. As it was, he looked ridiculous, which calmed Shallan's nerves a bit. He announced, "I am Captain Jeral Mavarien. I'm in charge of Company Three in the darkeyed infantry battallion, serving under Battalionlord Saal Ralashin. Now, I've had your reports read to me and the only logical conclusion I can draw is that Vedenar has sent us nothing but crem. I wouldn't want you on guard duty, let alone protecting my flank in battle. Fortunately for you, we already have all the canon fodder we need, and fortunately for me, we've just formed a new training platoon, so I don't have to deal with your incompetence for some time. Together with the men due to arrive from Alethkar next week, you'll serve under Lieutenant Kaladin here."

Mavarien gestured to a man in a worn green uniform, who looked as stereotypically Alethi as Shallan looked Veden. He was at least ten centimeters taller than the Captain, deeply tanned, with dark hair which was pulled back from his face in a tight knot. Even though his uniform was poorly tailored, Shallan could tell that he was lean and muscular. And the scowl on his face completed the 'competent and terrifying soldier' look.

Mavarien continued giving instructions, then eventually dismissed the darkeyed spearmen. They marched off the parade ground, leaving Shallan standing alone.

Mavarien called, "Halt," to the spearmen he had just dismissed. Sneering at Shallan, he said, "We've got a straggler. What are you waiting for, boy?"

"Excuse me?" Shallan asked, once she realized he was talking to her.

"Why don't you go with the rest of your lot?" countered the Captain.

"The rest? Oh, the foot soldiers. There must be some mistake, I'm Ensign Jushu Davar. Is there some sort of officer's training or -" she trailed off under the pressure of Mavarien's intense glare. But honestly, what was she supposed to say? This whole experience had taken a mortifying turn rather quickly.

Mavarien asked the scribe to find Jushu's name in the training camp report and read it aloud. It was... not exactly flattering, but did the scribe really have to sound so smug about it?

"In short, the boy is earnest and eager to please, but lacks the coordination to be an effective infantry soldier and the experience to be a good officer. " she concluded haughtily.

"Wonderful," drawled Mavarien sarcastically. He considered for a moment, and his grimace morphed into a cold smile. "The answer seems simple enough. You're in obvious need of further training, so you'll be in Platoon Fifteen with the rest of the new arrivals."

"Now just a minute," said the sullen platoon leader, "You can't just lump a lighteyed officer - even an Ensign - with the darkeyes like this."

"Of course not, Stormblessed," Mavarien replied, "He's to be your second-in-command."

The lieutenant snorted, "That's not funny, commander."

"It's not a joke."

Then, turning to Shallan, Mavarien asked, "What is your father's rank, boy?"

"F-fourth dahn," Shallan replied.

Lieutenant Kaladin sputtered, "Fourth dahn! You don't seriously expect him to listen to _me_? Even if the boy was a tenner, this would be unprecedented, but fourth dahn..."

"I'm the youngest son, of four," Shallan supplied, wanting nothing more than for this confrontation to be over.

"It doesn't matter if you've got a hundred older brothers, you're not going to take orders from a darkeyes!" Lieutenant Kaladin shouted.

Oh. He had such a defiant, almost regal, bearing that Shallan hadn't even looked at his eyes. And he was an officer. How was she supposed to know the Alethi let darkeyes rise so far in the ranks? Well, at least he wasn't objecting to Shallan - Jushu - personally.

Kaladin turned to Mavarien, "This will cause major disruptions in the chain of command. I don't think -"

"Oh _now_ you care about the chain of command," Mavarien countered.

Great. Shallan had somehow managed to get herself caught in the middle of a battle of egos on her first day in camp.

Mavarien continued, "Look, he's too high ranking for infantry, too clumsy for cavalry and all the aide positions are filled. I want to keep him as far from the battlefield as possible and right now, that's you."

Then, directing a glare at Shallan, Mavarien continued, "Listen boy, as far as you're concerned, Lieutenant Kaladin is a storming Highprince. If I hear you're being insubordinate, I'll put you on the front lines before you can send so much as think about sending word to your father."

Shallan replied, "Yes, sir," and fell in line behind the lieutenant but in front of the darkeyed troops as they marched to the barracks.

Lieutenant Kaladin showed the men around the camp - detouring past the medical facilities, quartermaster's post, and mess tents. He pointed out the strategic headquarters and more reputable sections of the marketplace.

Then he gave them fifteen minutes to get settled in the barracks before he took them outside the war camp and led them in running laps around the wall.

Shallan knew she should probably be grateful that her commanding officer wasn't one to sit and watch his men do all the work, and that he was physically in good condition. Logically, that boded well for their unit's success on the battlefield. But she sat on the ground, utterly exhausted, and he looked barely winded as he passed out practice staffs to the men. Then he demonstrated a spear kata so perfectly it looked more like dancing than fighting and she couldn't help but hate him, just a little bit.


	5. Did They Send Me Daughters

_Shallan_

Shallan awoke abruptly to a tapping noise on her door. Platoon Fifteen was housed in two soulcast stone buildings. Each building contained two bunkrooms that held twenty four beds each, a massive washroom for the men to share, and private officer's quarters. Shallan was taking full advantage of the lock on her door and had been sleeping in nothing but an oversized shirt all week.

"Yes," she called. It felt like every single one of her muscles was sore. She'd been in the army for months now, but it apparently wasn't enough to prepare her for Lieutenant Kaladin's training.

"Lieutenant? Message for you from the captain," said a woman's voice.

"Sorry, he's in the other bunker." Shallan groaned as she forced herself to sit up.

"Oh. That's not what the sign says."

The messenger was right, and Shallan had noticed that the day she moved into her rooms, but she couldn't say anything. Jushu Davar, being unable to read, would have no way of knowing that the sign on the door of his newly assigned quarters read 'Platoon Leader.' So Shallan had held her tongue. Now it was someone else's problem.

"Sorry," she said, "I'm new here and I just did what I was told."

The messenger left and Shallan trudged over to her washbasin and splashed some water on her face and neck. Pattern was annoyingly chipper. Shallan really wished spren could sleep, so that he would understand what it was like to hate mornings. Especially mornings like this one. Her routine took twice as long as usual, with every motion agony for her sore muscles. She was just adjusting the bindings on her chest when there was another knock on the door.

"Yes?"

"Ensign Davar, I need to speak with you," came the voice through the door. It was Lieutenant Kaladin.

"Just a moment I'm not presentable," she replied, quickly pulling a shirt over her head.

"This is the army, not a trip to a play or whatever it is you lighteyes do with your spare time."

"I'm not opening this door until I'm wearing pants," she replied. '_Was that something a man would say?' _she wondered to herself.

"Just don't take all day."

Lieutenant Kaladin obviously thought this conversation was more important than uniform requirements, because as she opened the door, the first thing she saw was his chest. His bare chest. It wasn't her fault her commanding officer's well-toned torso was the same height as her eyes. Really, it was his fault for being so tall. And, well, shirtless. That part was definitely his fault. Shallan took a Memory. She was an artist, after all. But then she forced herself to look up at his face.

"Yes, sir?"

"It appears that I have assigned you to the wrong quarters," he explained, "Up until two weeks ago, I was second-in-command of the platoon, so I've been living in the second-in-command quarters. They're identical to these ones except for, apparently, the writing on the doors. So I'd like to remedy that as soon as possible, to avoid any more mix-ups."

"Couldn't they just... paint over the writing and re-do it? It's not like anything is engraved in stone." This whole headache could have been avoided if Shallan would have been able to admit she could read. Or at least, she could have dealt with it some time that wasn't the crack of dawn. And preferably when her commanding officer was wearing his uniform. Or at least a shirt. This was just unprofessional.

"That would be the sensible thing," the lieutenant replied.

'_Eyes on his face,'_ Shallan reminded herself.

"But this is the army," he continued, "So no. Start packing. I'll be back with my things in a few minutes."

Shallan did as she was told, and she started by hiding her extra chest bindings and sketchbook into the bottom of her travel bag. She shoved a few sets of pants on top of them. Then she started gathering up the various personal items she had scattered about the space.

Lieutenant Kaladin returned sooner than expected, bearing a couple boxes, with a bag slung over his shoulder.

"Sorry," said Shallan, "I'm not quite ready yet."

"You've only been here a week," he commented, "How is it possible that you already have this much stuff?"

Shallan looked around the room. She had gone to the market on an afternoon off a few days ago and purchased a desk with a chair, a bed, a wardrobe, and a mirror. Her one indulgence was a rug, because she found it much easier to get out of bed if her feet didn't hit the cold stone floor right away. Plus there were a few interesting shells she'd collected on the journey. She'd been hoping to find a shelf for them, but hadn't seen one she liked.

"What are you talking about? The space isn't even half full, and there's another room besides," she countered as she packed up her washbasin, toothbrush and the shaving kit she had but didn't use.

"What can I carry back with me?" Lieutenant Kaladin asked, "I want this move to be done before breakfast. And we'll need to hurry, given that we're apparently transporting half a palace worth of furnishings."

"How about you give me a hand with the wardrobe?" she suggested.

"Alright."

Shallan blamed the bad morning she was having for the words that came out of her mouth next. Or maybe it was her brain's attempt to stop her from ogling his biceps as he lifted his end of the wardrobe. "So what do I have that you don't? The toothbrush? That would explain a lot."

"If this is how you talk to men who outrank you, it's no wonder they pawned you off on me," he replied acidly.

Really, it was too early to keep her tongue in check. Shallan retorted, "Oh you out-rank me alright. In more ways than one."

"Well at least I don't need an entire caravan to accompany me every time I move."

They arrived in the lieutenant's quarters. His rooms were practically bare. Besides the necessary furniture to store his clothing, weapons and gear, all he had was a literal bedroll.

"Oh I think I've discovered your problem," said Shallan, "You would hate the world a lot less if you didn't sleep on a rock, which is the only known substance harder than your head. What should I carry back?"

"How about the medical kit and uniforms?"

"Don't you want help with the- nevermind." Turns out he could carry his chest of drawers on his own. Of course he could.

"I don't hate the world," he countered, "Just infuriating lighteyes and all your unnecessary frills."

"What, like personal hygiene and common courtesy?"

"You mean vanity and sanctimonious posturing?"

Before Shallan could respond, she saw another soldier gaping at them as he passed by. The reality of what she was doing caught up with her. Chagrinned, she finished the rest of the move in relative silence. The lieutenant must have felt similarly, because he made no move to re-start their argument.


End file.
